


My Heart is Growing Weak

by WednesdaysDaughter



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Curses, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Immortality, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdaysDaughter/pseuds/WednesdaysDaughter
Summary: When he looks up Geralt has turned around, arms outstretched with a jar cradled in his large palms.“I’ll take good care of it Jaskier.”In the jar rests a beating heart; Jaskier’s beating heart. He opens his mouth to scream, but his voice is cheerful when he replies, “Of course you will Geralt.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 84
Kudos: 1439
Collections: Stupid Geralt/Sweet baby Jaskier





	My Heart is Growing Weak

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from City & Colour's "As Much as I Ever Could"
> 
> I tried to get it posted in time for Valentine's Day, but between work and errands it was not to be. This is good enough - my muse has been pushing me a lot since 2020 started. I hope the trend continues!

Jaskier goes to the coast anyway.

He rides through Cintra in time for their autumn celebration and woos the court with his latest tales of courage and heartache. It’s Queen Calanthe who suggests he drown his sorrows in Skellige’s cold ocean waters.

“The sea is capable of healing our deepest wounds,” Eist confirms, “when she’s feeling kind that is.”

Princess Cirilla pries a story out of Jaskier before he leaves in the morning for the docks: Her laughter dancing up and down the halls as he entertains with thrilling theatrics. A letter granting safe passage to the island Faroe gets tucked into his breast pocket when he’s finished and Eist outlines the friendly villages in the region. He waves away Jaskier’s gratitude and makes him promise to send a missive when he arrives safely.

“Lick your wounds quickly bard,” Queen Calanthe commands, “I expect a rousing presentation when you return for the summer.”

“Of course, your majesty.”

The journey east is uneventful and Jaskier is grateful for the change of pace. Like lovers reunited after a long parting, waves caress the longship and lull Jaskier into a deep sleep each night. The sea air seeps into his lungs, clearing it of dust and dirt from the continent he left behind. Jaskier spends majority of the journey on deck, finding the depths of the ship too confining to be enjoyable.

The sun leaves tiny freckles spattered across his forearms and cheeks which bloom like roses beneath its unrelenting heat. He composes for the seabirds that dive into the water to catch their dinner and the first time Jaskier’s lute is met with whale song he nearly jumps in to join them. 

With every oar stroke that separates him from Geralt, Jaskier feels an increasing storm of contradicting emotions swirl within his chest: Relief vs. apprehension. He’s reminded of Queen Calanthe’s parting words when she saw him hesitate to leave the castle.

“ _Collapse, if you must, but there is more to suffer in this life than granting him the honor of being your ruin. Fools like your witcher rarely learn their lesson because no one is willing to endure a second offence: Endure it bard and pay it back in full._ ”

Her words had fed his quiet anger and he boarded the ship a complicated knot of frustration and rage that the ocean’s swells untangled with each passing second. When they reached land, Jaskier’s emotions had calmed from hurricane to downpour, but the opportunity for flooding remained.

Harviken’s tavern was small, but Clan Dimun made him – and his music – feel welcome. They had their own stories to tell of monsters and mayhem so Jaskier’s able to gather enough material for a new ballad. It helped and hindered in equal measure, but when the thought of Geralt became overwhelming Jaskier sat on the sand and let the waves kiss his naked calves.

The Jarl joined him occasionally and together they fished on a sturdy outcrop when the weather permitted. They traded tales and one night the Jarl spoke plainly about the dangers lurking in the far woods.

“We pay homage to Freya, Mother to all and Goddess of love and fertility, but there are those who pray to darker forces. I caution you Jaskier, my scouts have found enchantments among the trees dedicated to Melusine: A powerful siren who wrought havoc upon the islands. Be careful where you wander.”

Jaskier takes Jarl Blackhand’s advice to heart, but when he sees a flickering fire on the horizon two weeks later, curiosity gets the better of him. He can practically hear Geralt’s gruff warning in the back of his mind and almost stops at the edge of the tree line: Almost.

The air vibrates with magic and its scent reminds Jaskier of dirt after it rains. The trees bend slightly beneath the weight of their foliage and he can feel invisible eyes on the back of his neck. After Jaskier realizes he’s unable to stop his descent into the forest, fear replaces curiosity.

An unfamiliar melody dances around Jaskier’s ears and fills his mind like the headiest mead. He stumbles on air and lands in a clearing that burns with blue light. A stone slab stands in the center and Jaskier’s able to turn his head until he sees the three naked women slowly approaching.

His tongue is thick in his mouth like lead and the song intensifies until he’s deaf to the words he can see them chanting. Jaskier is suddenly weightless, blue fire blinding him until he’s lain prone on the altar. His doublet is torn open and before he can protest something is shoved violently into his chest.

The pain is excruciating.

He writhes on the stone; his body slowly shutting down from the conflicting sensations of ice along his back and fire across his chest. His lungs stutter and stop only to jolt into action when the object is ripped from behind his ribs.

A shrill war cry fills the clearing and the song fades until all Jaskier can hear is his gasping breath. A pounding in his head makes Jaskier closes his eyes against the battle of light and shadow so he does not see the Blackhand come to his aid.

“Just breathe Jaskier, you are safe now.”

Jaskier cannot speak through the pain, gasping as blood forces itself past his bitten lips. Something is slipped into his mouth and Jaskier knows nothing but darkness.

He dreams of chamomile baths and promises kissed into hungry mouths. Geralt’s smile swims beyond his reach and when Jaskier finally awake it’s with the witcher’s name on his chapped lips. The thick scent of sage hangs in the air like smoke, but instead of suffocating him it eases Jaskier’s frantic thoughts.

The local healer shushes him and eases something that makes his lids feel heavy down his dry throat. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep, but Geralt is waiting for him when he does. Jaskier can recognize dream from reality, but he decides to let his mind give him what he wants. Together he and Geralt walk down a dirt path, shoulders bumping into each other as smiles dance on their lips.

_“I’ll take good care of it Jaskier.”_

Jaskier wants to ask what Geralt means but he’s distracted by the sound of dripping. Geralt keeps walking and Jaskier looks down to see a dried bloodstain along the front of his shirt. He stops in the middle of the forest and waits for the panic to overwhelm him, but all he feels is the wind.

When he looks up Geralt has turned around, arms outstretched with a jar cradled in his large palms.

_“I’ll take good care of it Jaskier.”_

In the jar rests a beating heart; Jaskier’s beating heart.

He opens his mouth to scream, but his voice is cheerful when he replies, _“Of course you will Geralt. I will do the same.”_

Blood blooms across Geralt’s tunic and he smiles gently when Jaskier feels a foreign weight in his hand. Geralt’s heart pounds faithfully in time with Jaskier’s.

He jolts out of bed and the healer shoves a jug into his hands before he can throw up on the floor. His stomach protests until all that’s left is bile. Jaskier shakes beneath the violence of the act and his mind cannot stop seeing the horror of his exposed heart in a jar.

He used to catch butterflies and fireflies when he was a child. Jaskier wonders if the nightmare was their revenge.

“Easy now,” the Jarl soothes, “you’re alright.”

“I feel like I got kicked in the chest by a mule.”

The silence is unsettling and Jaskier’s eyes flicker from the healer to Blackhand until he sees it sitting in a wooden bowl: His exposed heart.

“Please tell me that's not…”

“Your heart,” the Jarl confirms.

“Fuck.”

“The witches were going to sacrifice you to the siren Melusine. We interrupted the ritual, but my men were… enthusiastic. The witches are dead and they were the only ones who knew how to cure your predicament.”

Jaskier isn’t angry at the clan; the regret on Blackhand’s face is more than enough to assuage any negative emotions. He can’t stop staring at his heart as it beats with regularity, as if it were tucked safely behind his ribcage.

Nausea knocks about his stomach until more bile spills from his heavy lips. A waterskin is pushed into his shaky hands: Jaskier swirls the water in his mouth until it doesn’t taste like the inside of a rabbit’s ass.

“There are witches on the other islands who might be able to help,” Blackhand offers, but Jaskier shakes his head slowly.

“There’s a witch on the mainland that saved my life a few years ago. If she doesn’t kill me on sight perhaps I can convince her to help me again.”

“What about your witcher?” the healer asks dubiously at the description of Yennefer and Jaskier’s reminded of his dream.

“We didn’t part on good terms actually.”

A mournful hum fills the room and Jaskier feels a geyser of affection well up in his chest for the people who danced to his songs and laughed at his stories.

“You should write to Eist,” Blackhand suggests and Jaskier winces. He has the distinct impression that if Queen Calanthe found out about his condition from anyone else she might hang him by his pinkies in her dungeon.

However, he recalled her advice and the way his bawdy tales made her laugh like none other and decided she wouldn’t treat him too cruelly. Not that he was going to take that chance however and once the room stopped spinning he wrote a quick note and it was sent with a crow.

While they waited for a reply Jaskier spent his days on the beach, heart on display for the world to see – literally. After a few days Jaskier noticed a faint blue sheen dusting his heart and he deduced it was the physical representation of the magic used. Jaskier also experimented; running down the length of the shore to see if his heart would reflect the sudden exertion.

Watching it pump at an increased rate only furthered Jaskier’s discomfort.

Eleven days later the crow returned with an urgent summons from the Queen. Jaskier has reservations about traveling across the sea with his heart in a glass jar, but he reasoned it wasn’t much different than if the heart were where it belonged.

‘ _Sure it’s slightly more vulnerable now, but the concept is still the same. It could perish in my chest as easily as in a jar_.’

The morbid, yet pragmatic, thought process made it easier for Jaskier to board the longboat. His heart was tucked into a satchel he worse across his torso and when they run into rough seas it’s cradled tightly in his arms.

Eist is waiting at the gates to welcome him back to Cintra.

“I’d ask if you enjoyed your trip, but…” he trails off eyeing the satchel until Jaskier smiles ruefully.

“Honestly, if you ignore the crazy naked cultists the trip was downright delightful.”

Eist laughs and puts an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, guiding him through the grand hall where Calanthe is waiting. Her unimpressed scowl only makes Jaskier grin harder.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“That’s what all fools say,” she sighs and rubs her temple slowly to ease the headache she’s had for weeks.

Ciri is studying with Mousesack and Eist is quick to assure Jaskier that she doesn’t know about his current ailment.

“She’s not some skittish colt,” Calanthe is quick to impress upon Jaskier, “but I don’t want your curse giving the child nightmares.”

“I might have nightmares my Queen,” Eist pales when Jaskier finally removes the jar from its bag.

“That’s definitely a side effect,” Jaskier confirms.

Queen Calanthe eyes his heart carefully before gesturing for him to hide it away. Jaskier knows she’s seen her fair share of glory and gore, but he cannot help but note the way her fingers tighten around her throne’s armrests.

“It’s unsettling to be sure,” Calanthe confesses, “do you have a plan?”

Jaskier nods, “There’s a witch named Yennefer. We’re… acquaintances.”

His pause makes Calanthe’s brow quirk in interest, but she doesn’t say anything. Jaskier is relieved; he isn’t sure how he can spin Yennefer without mentioning Geralt and the witcher is a touchy subject for all in the room.

“She’s enjoys being noticed so finding her won’t be difficult.”

“You’ll rest here for the night and there will be a horse waiting for you in the morning.”

Contrary to what Geralt often voiced, Jaskier was not an idiot so he graciously accepted Calanthe’s hospitality. When Ciri came barreling down the hallway after she heard his music Jaskier entertained her until the moon rose.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

Jaskier is equal parts reluctant and eager to leave Cintra.

He tried not counting the days since leaving Geralt’s side, but he knows with utter surety that five months, two weeks, and six days have come and gone since then. That also means it’s been that long since he and Yennefer were in each other’s company.

It feels like much less time has passed when she corners him in a tavern on the outskirts of Maribor.

“He’s been looking for you.”

The shock of her sudden appearance makes Jaskier jerk in alarm until he comprehends her words.

“I went sailing.”

She appraises his appearance and nods sharply before gesturing for him to take a seat at her table. The whole exchange leaves Jaskier feeling wrong-footed, but he’s not about to piss off his only hope at being put back together. There are two plates waiting and Jaskier looks around quickly to see if Geralt is hiding in the wings.

“Relax,” Yennefer scoffs, “He isn’t here. Last I heard he was heading south.”

“Cintra?” Jaskier asks and wonders briefly how quickly Calanthe will throw Geralt in the dungeon for trying to take Ciri. The imagined scenario isn’t followed by the sense of bitter amusement it might have encouraged four months ago.

Yennefer shrugs and downs her glass of wine before motioning the barkeep for more. He knows she can magic her own beverage, but it’s surreal to watch her try and blend in.

“So,” she begins, “when are you going to ask me to break your spell?”

Jaskier chokes on his ale, coughing and waving away the concerned glances of patrons who glance his way. She waits for him to gather himself, popping grapes into her mouth which is curled upwards in humor. Her eyes dart to the brown bag sitting in his lap and holds out her hand expectantly.

Jaskier reluctantly hands it over and when she peers inside he waits for a reaction: Yennefer does not disappoint.

“Fucking hell Jaskier,” she admonishes, “who did you piss off this time?”

“The cult of Melusine and I didn’t piss them off so much as wander onto their sacred land?”

Yennefer’s glare could contend with Queen Calanthe’s.

“I was supposed to be their sacrifice.”

Yennefer closes her eyes slowly and takes a deep breath before handing the bag back to Jaskier.

“It might have been kinder to kill you.”

Her words are unapologetic, but her tone is almost remorseful which unsettles Jaskier further. She lets him eat though his appetite hasn’t been the same since that night. While it might have unnerved him in the past, Jaskier knows she’s focused on curing his current predicament and not planning his demise.

Once their plates have been cleared Yennefer leads Jaskier upstairs to her room. He recoils when she crowds him towards the bed with hands outstretched. After murmuring a spell, she lays an open palm on his forehead. Jaskier watches as her second hand slides into place over his left pectoral and the cool sensation makes him shiver.

“Be still.”

Jaskier does his best impression of a statue until Yennefer pulls away; waves of concern imprinted upon her brow. Worms squirm in his gut and his mouth dries as she turns away to gather her nerve: She can’t help him.

“You can’t help me.”

“I don’t know enough,” she corrects, “I need to see the sight where the ritual was performed.”

She sounds confident and when she starts asking him questions about the incident Jaskier replies as if his mouth is controlled by another. He feels separate from his body when she waves her hands and drags him through a portal: The clearing looks less threatening in the sunlight.

Yennefer hums to herself, pacing around the stone altar until watching her makes Jaskier dizzy. She peels bark off various trees and shoves her painted fingertips into the soil, crumbling clumps of dirt between them until she’s satisfied.

“Any strange dreams since it happened?”

Her voice jolts Jaskier from his daydream and he doesn’t have to look at the jar to see his heartbeat increase. The missing sensation makes him lightheaded, but he pushes the ache away until he can focus on the question.

Yennefer waits patiently and when Jaskier describes the reoccurring nightmare starring Geralt of Rivia she nods as if she were expecting his answer. Her palms hover over the slab of stone and she exclaims suddenly, a bolt of lightning falling from the cloudless sky until it strikes the altar.

Jaskier shrieks and clutches his chest where fire swirls between his ribs. He leans forward, hands clutching his knees and he doesn’t vomit, but it’s a close call. Suddenly Yennefer is there, rubbing gentle circles onto his back until his vision clears and he can breathe without tasting a storm.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Yennefer apologizes, “I wasn’t expecting such a visceral reaction.”

“So can you fix me?”

She sighs and guides Jaskier to the stone where he sits, but not before glancing upwards in case another bolt decided to strike. Yennefer eventually shrugs in response to his question and Jaskier nearly slides off the slab in dismay.

“What does that mean?”

The hysteria in his voice makes her wince and Yennefer reaches out to push him back onto the altar. Jaskier feels as if he’s going to fly into a million tiny pieces until Yennefer shoves a tiny flower underneath his nose; the scent calming him instantly.

“Deep breaths bard,” she urges, “I’ll explain once you’ve calmed down.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jaskier quips but he follows her instruction and once his heart is no longer beating hard enough to crack its glass container Yennefer continues.

“As far as I can tell your heart was accidentally enchanted when the ritual was interrupted. I’m assuming of course that they intended absorb your life-force after devouring it.”

Jaskier’s stomach lurches, but he closes his eyes until the feeling passes. Focusing instead on Yennefer’s voice Jaskier soaks up every word until he’s squinting at her in disbelief.

“When their focus was broken the magic itself reached out and latched onto your subconscious desire. You obviously didn’t want to die and the magic, coupled with the history of this place, granted your wish albeit with more enthusiasm than you probably desired.”

“… what?”

“You’re immortal now.”

“Bullshit.”

Yennefer laughs, not unkindly, and pivots her body until she can take Jaskier’s hands in her own. 

“Perhaps it would be better to say that as long as your heart remains separate from your body you will not age. This place is saturated with chaos and many have died on this altar; the magic most likely latched onto their last wishes as well as your own and embedded your heart with eternal life.”

The sound of wildlife fills the silence; birds and crickets doing their best to lighten the mood.

“Can it be put back in?”

Yennefer tilts her head and he can see the gears spinning in her mind, “I don’t see why not, but it’s not something I feel comfortable attempting just yet. I can ask around if that’s what you desire, but surely you realize what this means.”

Her expectant gaze makes him squirm and suddenly Jaskier is more tired than he’s been in months.

“Please spare me the mind games and speak plainly Yennefer. I’ve had a rough few weeks.”

Rolling her eyes she opens her mouth and her reply makes Jaskier swallow around the sudden lump in his throat.

“The man who speaks more than he is silent and the man who is silent more than he speaks: How foolish you both are for not realizing how perfect you are together.”

“What does this have to do with Geralt?”

Just like back in the good old days Yennefer’s stare makes Jaskier feel like an idiot and his face flushes.

“I almost want to lock you both in a broom closet,” she confesses, “but there’s not nearly enough room in those to get properly acquainted.”

Jaskier sputters, too shocked at her words to form a reply and he wonders briefly if he really did die since he’s clearly stumbled into a backwards reality.

“Okay,” Yennefer pacifies, “since I’ve lost you somewhere I’ll go ahead and spell it out. Just because your heart’s been imbued with magical properties doesn’t mean it’s indestructible. I could shatter that jar and lacerate its contents without blinking.”

She paints a horrific picture, but Jaskier appreciates the honesty.

“Your subconscious has already provided you with the solution, Jaskier. Obviously, your heart needs a little extra protection. Who better than a witcher? More specifically a witcher who’s been searching every tavern this side of the Yaruga for his bard.”

Jaskier hears her words, but they’re strung together in such a way that leaves him more confused than before.

“Should you even be encouraging this? You and Geralt are all…” he waves a hand up and down as if charades could possibly explain their complicated relationship, “you know?”

“It’s not me he’s looking for Jaskier. Besides, magic is not a good foundation to build a relationship upon. We’ll always be tied together by a wish, but there’s nothing binding him to you besides love: Honest and mundane.”

Jaskier’s no longer sitting on the altar, having shoved away from it to pace the moss-covered ground during their exchange.

“Yen…” Jaskier pleads as hope threatens to bubble up and overwhelm his rationality. He silently prickles at the notion of his love for Geralt being labeled ‘mundane’ but he understands the point she’s trying to get across. Yennefer silently approaches and lays her hands on his shoulders, turning him around until their eyes meet.

“Jaskier, are you telling me there’s someone else you’d trust with your heart?”

A beat and then a whispered, “No.”

Yennefer’s smile is bittersweet, but she squeezes his shoulders affectionately in hopes of easing the longing in his voice.

“That’s what I thought.” 

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

Yennefer shoves him out of the portal, her laughter swiftly following before it closes.

Jaskier swears vibrantly and violently when he lands on his knees. It’s not until he sees the pair of boots slowly approaching that Jaskier’s words die on his lips. Rationale tells him hundreds of people wear black boots that look exactly like the ones which stop in front of him. Emotion, however, tells him that there’s only one man who walks with such certainty.

“Jaskier?”

He vows to purchase the most expensive bottle of wine for Yennefer the next time he sees her.

‘ _And slip a potent laxative in it,_ ’ he schemes silently.

A hand enters his vision and he looks up to see Geralt eyeing him earnestly, golden eyes bright with an emotion Jaskier had caught flashes of in the corner of his eye.

“Ah, Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims as if his circumstances were an everyday occurrence, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Do you even know where here is?”

The teasing lit to Geralt’s voice makes Jaskier shudder and he doesn’t realize his arm’s traitorous action until he’s being pulled to his feet. His left hand shakes as it brushes the dust from his clothing and Jaskier scrambles for a reply.

Apparently he flounders for too long because Geralt suddenly steps into his personal space, brow furrowed in concern.

“Yen didn’t do anything did she? I know you both have a… complicated relationship.”

Jaskier’s shaking his head before he can catalog the way Geralt’s hand feels holding his.

“No, Yen’s great – we’re great actually. She was helping me with a little problem.”

Geralt cocks his head, “Is that so?”

“Yep! I’d definitely say we were friends as long as she’s not within earshot.”

Jaskier decides confusion is a good look on Geralt and he eventually finds the strength to pull his hand free from Geralt’s firm grip. Geralt frowns as if offended and Jaskier blinks slowly as he begins to process the proof of Yennefer’s claims.

_‘He’s pining after you bard. It’s sickening to be honest.’_

Jaskier’s pulled from his musings when Geralt suddenly reclaims his hand and pulls Jaskier into the inn, brushing past a handful of people who quickly part when they see the thunderous expression on his face. Geralt’s grip borders on painful, but Jaskier doesn’t try to pull away expecting it would lead to more trouble.

When they’re finally alone Jaskier rounds on Geralt and demands an explanation; unimpressed with his boorish grunts that followed them upstairs.

“What did she do to you?”

Jaskier’s reply is cut off by Geralt’s hand which clutches his doublet over the spot where his heart should reside. The heat from his palm sinks past the silk and Jaskier’s skin is greedy as it basks beneath the warmth.

“I can hear it, but…” Geralt trails off bewildered and the worry etched on his face plucks painfully at Jaskier’s heartstrings.

“Yennefer didn’t do this to me although a few years ago, I wouldn’t have put it past her.”

Jaskier slides the satchel off his back and when he reveals the jar Geralt releases a wounded sound as if he’d been gut punched. He reaches out then withdrawals his hands as if he isn’t allowed to touch, the hesitant action pulling a smile from Jaskier. He pushes the jar forward until Geralt’s fingers have no choice but to curl around the glass to stop it from falling.

Jaskier’s heart pounds quickly within its confines.

‘ _So much for my Gwent face_ ,’ Jaskier mourns as his cheeks heat and his heartbeat increases beneath Geralt’s intense gaze. Jaskier knows the witcher can probably smell his interest as well and hopes Yennefer wasn’t playing a cruel joke at his expense.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but after we parted ways I stumbled headfirst into trouble. Some creepy siren worshipers cursed me and if the ritual hadn’t been interrupted…”

“You’d be dead.”

Jaskier is familiar with the grimace of guilt on Geralt’s face and he wants to deny and distract, but his close encounter with death remains obvious. His heart has not slowed its beat and Geralt continues to cradle the jar as if it were precious.

Jaskier is awash with fondness; his face the least telling feature at this point.

“Besides the obvious,” he gestures to his heart, “Yennefer says I no longer need to bother with my tedious morning routine, which is a shame because my moisturizing concoction practically costs me an arm and a leg.”

Geralt freezes and Jaskier smiles sheepishly, “That’s right, no more crow’s feet for this fine-looking fellow.”

“Can it be reversed?”

Jaskier knows he doesn’t hide his hurt in time when Geralt’s frown deepens and he reaches out with a free hand; the jar secure in the crook of his left elbow where it beats solidly against Geralt’s side. Jaskier bats the gesture away, voice cracking with anger.

“I realize that my sudden extension of life might annoy you Geralt, but rest assured I have no intention of cursing your life further with my existence.”

The sting of tears adds to Jaskier’s embarrassment. Before he can wipe at the escapee Geralt beats him too it, knuckle brushing the stray tear away on its journey to his chin. Geralt’s hand hovers between them and he takes a tentative step closer until there are a handful of inches separating their noses.

“That’s not what I meant, but I was remiss not to apologize the moment you fell at my feet. I’m sorry Jaskier: My anger and fear bested me. I knew exactly what to say to make you leave. You of all people didn’t deserve my ire.”

“Why me of all people?”

Eyes locked on Jaskier’s, searching for the slightest sign of objection, Geralt’s hand rises once more. When his calloused palm makes contact with Jaskier’s burning cheeks they both exhale in relief. Geralt’s thumb traces his bottom lip, his own lips parting when Jaskier’s tongue darts out to taste Geralt’s skin.

“Because you were the first thing I chose for myself; not fate, not destiny or a djinn. I was too blind to see that you chose me back: Forgive me.”

As far as apologies go, Geralt’s hits all the fine points and the way his eyes dart down to Jaskier’s lips is a definite plus. He wants to close the gap so desperately; Jaskier fears he may vibrate from his skin.

“I’ve spent half my life knowing you Geralt and I’d like that trend to continue especially since my expiration date has become an unknown.”

He chuckles at Geralt’s unimpressed stare.

“However, are you sure that you’re up for an indeterminate future of my filing-less pie and penchant for trouble?”

“I’m willing to find out.”

Geralt swallows Jaskier’s grin; left arm trapping Jaskier against his chest careful not to dislodge the jar. Jaskier’s heart pounds against the glass and the sensation is a little disorienting, but Geralt continues to kiss Jaskier until they have to breathe again. Jaskier’s fingers tangle in Geralt’s hair like they’ve longed to do for years and their lips are pulled back together like gravity.

‘ _I love you,_ ’ Jaskier doesn’t say but knows with every press of his lips and lively beat of his heat that Geralt hears him loud and clear. Nipping at Jaskier’s bottom lip, Geralt’s voice is rough as he replies in kind.

“I’ll take good care of it Jaskier.”

Jaskier smothers his wet laughter against Geralt’s lips, but not before following the script.

“Of course you will Geralt. I will do the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved writing Eist and Calanthe, I'm going to have to find more opportunities in the future. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! My Hobbit fic was more fairytale-ish, so it was nice taking this trope (if one can call it that) for a spin and remaking it so to speak. Magic is interesting to write and while it allows certain liberties to be taken, it took me a while to figure out what the hell happened to Jaskier lol.


End file.
